


Injuries for Comfort

by arsenicarose



Series: DreamNotFound COMFORT Fics [18]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Blood and Injury, Boys Kissing, Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dream and George are both afraid to communicate, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, In the end, Injury, Injury Recovery, Kissing, M/M, Minecraft Healing Rules, Respawn, Resurrection, Set in Mincraft, Sleepy Cuddles, So they both play into a game so they can get what they want, Temporary Character Death, They're In Love Your Honor, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Touch-Starved GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), minor trauma, needy boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 20:15:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30044139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arsenicarose/pseuds/arsenicarose
Summary: Dream gathered George in his arms, as if he could keep him together and uninjured with just the force of his embrace.It almost felt like he could.(AKA George and Dream feel like they can only comfort each other when they’ve been hurt)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: DreamNotFound COMFORT Fics [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050791
Comments: 38
Kudos: 387
Collections: MCYT





	Injuries for Comfort

It was a relatively normal night. George had retired to his bed in a simple house made of wood and stone, ugly but protective against the harsh winds and monsters that lay outside. Sleep was eluding him though, something about his brush with death, the fire that burned him for a hair too long. He had eaten frantically, begged the fire to leave him, and felt himself brush arms with death, but the burning stopped and he was fine, at least physically.

Mentally, he was a wreck. The terror of almost dying, combined with the horrified expression on Dream’s face, had really done a number on him. George expected sleep to come easily after such an exhausting day, but he was wound tight and terrified, like if he closed his eyes, he would die.

Then Dream would wander in the next day, not a care in the world, until he saw George’s body, sprawled on the-

George’s eyes snapped open again. “Damn.”

He couldn’t think of a good solution for this problem. It was bizarre, too. George had come that close to death before. Hell, George had  _ died _ and come back (painful process to say the least), so why was this one so hard for him? He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but for some reason, he kept thinking of Dream.

As if summoned, there was a knock on the door. George sat up curiously. There was only one person it could be. “Hello?”

“Um, hey…” Dream’s voice was muffled by the wooden door, but still intelligible.

“Everything alright?” George asked, even though it clearly wasn’t.

There was a pause, a gathering of wits, a deep breath. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

The door creaked open, letting in a slight cool breeze that danced across the strands of George’s hair. Dream stood in the doorway, a little awkwardly and a little stiff, as if still unsure of himself, despite George’s welcome. After a moment’s hesitation, Dream allowed himself to walk inside, closing the door behind him with a soft thump.

“Hey…” Dream repeated, voice soft.

“Hello…?” George was confused, and slightly frustrated. He hadn’t been sleeping, but he had been trying. “What’s up? Are you alright?”

“No, yeah, I’m fine!” The reply was too fast, as if Dream was yanking it over the conversation to cover a hidden wound. “I’m just… Are  _ you _ alright? Those burns were nasty…”

George shuddered involuntarily. “Yeah… They’ve healed though. I mean, you saw.”

“Yeah…”

Silence descended over them. Dream fidgeted where he stood, seemingly unable to say anything else. George gave him a minute, then two, to collect his thoughts, before impatience struck again. He tried to keep his tone soft, though, since Dream seemed a little fragile. “So… You needed something?”

Dream’s head snapped up, rigid attention. “Hmm?”

“You came to my door? In the middle of the night? Did you need something?” George prompted, gently.

“Oh! Right… Yes… Well, I just… You know, you were injured, and I wanted to make sure you were okay. That’s all…” 

“Uh-huh…” George sat up fully in bed, swinging his legs around so he was facing Dream dead on. “Dream, we’ve known each other for so long, and you know I won’t judge. Please, just tell me what’s up.”

Dream fidgeted again, worrying away at the edge of his cloak, the signature part of his look. He looked so scared and small, but George couldn’t imagine why, until he spoke. “I don’t like watching you die, George.” His voice was so quiet, it could scarcely be heard. “I don’t like watching you get hurt.”

Oh.

George understood immediately. He had been there too. As he and Dream had spent more time together, had gotten closer, he had noticed himself worrying over Dream far more than he had before. It hurt him when Dream died, it killed him to watch Dream suffer. There had been times, on bad days, where he had snuck into Dream’s room to watch him sleep, just to remind himself that Dream was still breathing.

“I completely understand,” George said, without a touch of judgement. “I’ve been there.”

Silence fell again, unspoken words and understandings filtering through the black of night. They had been getting  _ closer _ since they first started traveling together, but nothing had actually happened. Both of them were well aware of the path they were walking down together, but there was no need to rush, no need to push.

Sometimes, though, it was nice to take a step forward.

Dream cleared his throat. “Can I… Uh, can… Can I stay here…? Please?” The please was whispered with such desperation that it tore at George’s heart.

“Of course, Dream.” George’s voice was soothing, honey coated. Despite all their teasing, he knew when Dream was broken. “Please, make yourself comfortable.” He lifted the edge of his blanket, a quiet invitation.

“I- I- I can sleep on the floor!” Dream stammered, his walk becoming jerky with embarrassment.

George shrugged. “I mean, if you want to, but I see no reason. The bed’s big enough for the two of us, and I don’t relish the idea of you on the ground.” He imagined himself in Dream’s position, imagined being banished to the cold floor, shivering on hard stone, aching for warmth and comfort. He could never do that to Dream, and he couldn’t imagine Dream would do it to him.

“It’s really no trouble!”

“Dream, seriously, it’s not a big deal. What’s with the hesitation?

Dream’s eyes shot open wide, darting around the room at having been caught. “Okay, well… I just… I don’t want you to think I’m trying to… take advantage…”

“I don’t.”

“Oh. Okay.” That seemed to be enough to settle Dream’s nerves. He carefully clamored onto the mattress next to George, slipping under the warm blanket gratefully.

For a moment, it was incredibly awkward. They lay next to each other, determinedly facing the ceiling, completely unsure of what to do. It was one thing to joke about it by the light of day, mockingly promising affection under golden rays of distance. It was something else entirely to be feeling the body heat of someone who distracted your gaze and bewitched your thoughts, especially in the dark.

Surprisingly, it was George who broke the tension. “Well, I’m tired. Goodnight.” With that, he rolled to his side, facing away from Dream, and curled in on himself, hoping that sleep would take him. Eventually it did, but only after he felt Dream make himself comfortable. 

There was something in listening to him breathe that was really beautiful to George, and that took him through to sleep.

The next morning, there was no discussion. Just a few coughed thank yous and a quick escape by Dream, who might have been blushing.

~~~

It was a nightmare. Absolute terror ripped through George as he bounded across the netherrack, weaving and dodging through the intermingled pack of Piglins and Hoglins. Dream couldn’t make a sound, but George was screaming enough for the both of them, scaring the Piglin who had stabbed Dream nearly to death before George’s axe finished the job.

The Piglin collapsed, dead weight, to the side, still gripping the handle of the blade that had skewered Dream. Without a thought, George pulled the sword out, which forced out an inhuman, strangled burble from Dream’s throat. Blood splattered everywhere, and Dream coughed it up, but he couldn’t speak. He was wheezing, and not in the fun way, as his perforated lungs tried to suck in air.

George started to force feed Dream, shoving golden carrots down the man’s throat. Thankfully, Dream wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t chew and swallow, though it seemed to be an agony to do it. After the first carrot, he gasped in a desperate breath, after the second, he groaned in pain, and the third had him collapsing to his knees.

With Dream not immediately dying, George hastily built a wall around them, barricading them in a small, hot box. They were still surrounded by Piglins and Hoglins, but they were safe in their haphazard protection.

Dream was breathing semi-regularly by that point, having devoured a few more carrots while George was building. Through the ragged, bloody hole in his shirt, new skin could be seen, and just a hint of redness.

George collapsed and he leaned against the wall, chest heaving. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m doing great.” Dream gave him a winning grin and a thumbs up.

George sighed, closing his eyes and letting his head tip back into the netherrack. Golden carrots usually left people feeling a little loopy for a while, especially if they ate that many in a row (though, the effect was  _ nothing _ compared to a golden apple). “That’s good to hear. You wanna get out of here?”

“Absolutely.”

And so, that night, it was George who found himself sitting at the doorway, knocking awkwardly, waiting with bated breath to hear from the man inside, confirming he was still alive. Dream invited him in without hesitation, and the transition from standing nervously in the foyer to snuggling under the blankets was a bit smoother, and they settled into sleeping positions almost immediately.

When George closed his eyes, though, all he could see was that horrific image of Dream’s limp body lifted in the air, red sword pierced through and dripping blood behind his back, and the Piglin grinning through its tusks as it prepared to kill. His eyes shot open with a panicked jolt, which caused Dream to mutter with confusion.

George was tired, wrung out, depleted from the day. That was the excuse he would make later (more for himself than for Dream).  _ That _ was why he reached out and curled around Dream’s arm, feeling the warmth to it, the  _ life _ in it.

Dream didn’t mind at all.

The next morning found them both awake, curled into each other with a desperate grip, a need for closeness. They pretended to sleep until the sun was high in the sky, unwilling to break away from the perfect embrace they had found themselves in, until the complaints of their stomachs became so pressing they had to separate.

They said nothing about it.

~~~

George was not one for carelessness, especially when compared to Dream. He was meticulous and guarded, a planner and a thinker. He used to be reckless, wild, and free, but dying changed him.

But then, Dream changed him too.

So, after a week of perfect health and sleeping alone for both of them, George made a calculated decision. Theoretically, he could have asked, but, in reality, that was impossible, so he did the next best thing.

Or the worst possible thing, depending on how you looked at it.

Regardless, that’s how he ended up limping into their little home base, riddled with arrows and bleeding profusely. It hurt like hell, and the first idea of just  _ asking _ was looking more and more appealing as he watched his own blood paint their floorboards.

Crossing the threshold broke him down, and he fell to his knees in the entryway, barely able to keep himself up. The sound of it drew out a cautious Dream, who rushed over in a second, “George?!”

George groaned, letting his body rest against Dream’s for support.

Dream accepted the weight without a second thought, wrapping an arm around George’s shoulder’s. “What happened?!”

“Skeleton. Please help.”

“Right! Sorry…” Dream blushed, handing over some food for George to munch on while he picked at the arrows like flower petals.  _ I love him, I love him not _ . According to them, he loved Dream, but he already knew that.

George started to feel better as he ate, especially with Dream half cradling him and rubbing soothing circles into his back. “Thank you.”

“Of course! Of course.” Dream paused, twirling one of the shafts between his fingers. “You got hit a lot of times, though…”

George watched it twirl, trying to ignore that it was  _ his _ blood staining the wood. “There were a lot of skeletons.”

“Uh huh.”

“What are you suggesting?” George crossed his arms, shoving Dream back a bit. Had he been found out? It wasn’t that he had purposefully sought out the skeletons and laid down his weapons. He had just “forgotten” his shield, and he might have left the thing alive for a couple seconds extra.

Dream just laughed. “That maybe you’re too old and weak to be going out on your own!”

The whole plan seemed extremely silly at that point, especially because George definitely didn’t want to cuddle Dream after he said that. Definitely not… “Shut  _ up _ , honestly. You’re the  _ worst _ .”

“Aw, you love me!” Dream retorted, grin lighting his features.

“Yeah, sure.” George rolled his eyes dramatically, but they both knew he did.

Despite all their joviality and teasing, Dream showed up at George’s door that night, eyes wide and haunted. George said nothing, just opened his blankets, and they rested. There was no pretending either. They just started spooning right away, with Dream gathering George in his arms, as if he could keep him together and uninjured with just the force of his embrace.

It almost felt like he could.

The morning found them tangled in each other, forming a spider with their eight loosely connected limbs. Instead of making a serious attempt to extricate themselves, they settled in tighter. Some small acknowledgement passed between them that it was something they both wanted, and it made the harsh reality of the sun a little softer.

~~~

Despite how effective it was, George didn’t want to try that method again. He did get to cuddle with Dream that night, but he also had to deal with the pain of healing multiple arrow wounds, and it was not something he really wanted to deal with again.

So days passed with lingering glances and almost asked questions, but no progress. Sometimes, George would open his mouth to say something, but he would always snap it shut before the words had a chance to escape. Other times, Dream would carefully grab George’s arm or the hem of his shirt, but then he would just let go sheepishly.

They were really good at not talking.

Then, Dream came in bleeding profusely. George felt sick, not because of the wound, which wasn’t even that bad, but because of the surge of hope that coursed through him. How could he be excited to see his  _ friend _ wounded, even if it meant there was a chance, a potential excuse, to hold and be held in return?

He wondered if Dream felt the same way.

Regardless, he shoved all that aside to treat the wound. Dream explained that it was a stray arrow that had managed to graze him, but the wound was pretty deep. Upon careful examination, it looked like the arrow had stuck in the flesh of the deltoid and been torn free, probably during the ensuing battle. It looked painful.

“Stay right here, b-” George cut himself off with a blush, before spinning on heal to get some food. He had almost said  _ baby _ . What was wrong with him?

Dream’s grin was pretty wide for someone whose blood was flowing freely down their arm. “What was that, Georgie?”

“What was what?” George feigned ignorance, handing Dream some steak without making eye contact.

“You started to call me something?” Dream teased between mouthfuls of meat. “What was it you were going to say?”

“Bud,” George replied quickly, “but it felt awkward.”

Dream rolled his eyes. “‘Bud?’ Really, George?”

“Yup.”

Dream tried to keep pestering, but George gently shoved more food into his open mouth, mumbling about “bleeding profusely” and “heal your injuries” even as the wound closed up. Dream just smiled.

It was as good an excuse as any other, George decided. Sure, Dream had been nowhere near death, but it had been scary (ish) and George could (always) use some tactile comfort after seeing his friend’s blood yet  _ again _ .

Dream was waiting for him, awake despite the late hour and already scooted over. A smug expression was perched on his face, but it looked like a mask, and as George walked in, hints of need could be seen from behind it. He knew better than to comment on that, though, since he was in need too. Otherwise, why would he be there?

“How’s your arm?” George asked, a perfunctory ritual act, since he had watched it fully heal.

Dream smiled. “It still hurts, Georgie. I need you to help make it feel better.”

“Yeah, of course.” George smiled too, sliding under the covers into safety and home. “It looked painful.”

Both of them fought the giggles, trying to play into the charade for each other’s benefit. It made things easier.

As for how they ended up holding hands when they finally left the bed for breakfast, they didn’t come up with an excuse, so who knows why.

~~~

It was a relatively normal night. George had retired to his bed, unable to come up with a good excuse to be in Dream’s instead. No major injuries that day, and even the minor ones couldn’t really be called injuries. George sighed, torn between happiness that he hadn’t had much pain and sadness that he would have to sleep alone.

But then there was a knock, so soft it could have been a branch in the wind. George sat up, curious, and called out, “Hello?”

“Hey…” Dream’s voice called, muffled again.

George was feeling some serious deja vu over all of this. “What’s up?”

Dream wavered, anxious. “Uh… Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

Dream stood in the doorway, fidgeting slightly. “Hey…”

“Is everything alright, Dream?” George asked patiently. Maybe he had had a nightmare or something.

“Um… You remember that splinter?” Dream asked. “The one you got in your finger?”

George couldn’t help but laugh. “Barely?”

“I don’t know, George…” There was hesitation there, but also a drizzle of teasing. “It looked pretty bad…”

“What do you mean?” George hadn’t quite gotten the game, too stuck in the literal lack of injury to see the potential.

Dream twisted the end of his cloak, back and forth, back and forth. “I mean, sure, you’re healed now, but it was… It was traumatic, right? You might need… Something…”

Ah. George got the game then. “Oh! You’re absolutely right, Dream. It was… Gosh, it was so terrible. Please,  _ soothe _ me!”

“Of course, Georgie!” Dream bounded over, barely containing his glee. “I could even kiss it better, if you like!” It seemed like Dream hadn’t meant to say that. He skidded to a halt, eyes wide, just in front of the mattress. “Or not I mean… It’s… Um…”

George sighed contentedly, glad one of them had said something. “Come on now, Dream. I was injured. You wouldn’t deny me that comfort, would you?” As a final, bold measure, he batted his eyelashes, moving further into the wall to make room for Dream.

The grin reemerged immediately. “I would never!” The mattress sank from Dream’s weight, and he sidled right against George’s body. “Which finger was it?”

George giggled, pointing to an innocent looking spot on his pointer finger.

Dream gathered George’s hand in his, cupping it like a delicate seashell he was examining. His gaze found George’s and they locked eyes, and an intensity sparked between them as Dream slowly lowered his lips to the offending spot. It sent a thrill through George’s entire body, especially to a certain place George tried not to think about.

Some part of him wanted to tell Dream that he had more splinters, on his cheek, his lips, his neck, his collar bones, his stomach, his- He shook his head, as if to say no out loud. He couldn’t do that.

Dream’s eyes seemed to be asking a question, but George couldn’t read them in that much detail, so eventually they just settled into each other, interlocking perfectly, like it was destiny, and fell asleep.

~~~

The excuses continued in that vein for a long time.

_ “A creeper blew up near you! I know you didn’t get  _ hurt _ , but it was too close for comfort!” _

_ “We walked so much today! You could have died of  _ exhaustion! _ ” _

_ “That stew was so hot you burned your tongue!” _

_ “You coughed really hard earlier!” _

_ “You fell from four entire meters in the air!” _

_ “That sweet berry bush had you in it’s grasp!” _

_ “You brushed against a cactus!” _

_ “We went swimming today! You could have drowned!” _

_ “The sun was really bright today! You could have burned!” _

_ “You choked on a carrot!” _

It was a game they played. The rules: don’t tell each other how much you need it, come up with a good excuse, and don’t laugh even if the excuse given is ridiculous. They didn’t need to talk about any of those rules. It just kind of worked out that way, with neither of them able to discuss it for a long time, despite how clearly both of them wanted it.

~~~

George screamed, louder than anything, as his legs  _ burned _ . He could feel them incinerating, charring, disintegrating beneath the sticky, viscous lava. It didn’t want to let him go.  _ It didn’t want to let him go _ . His struggle felt pointless. His grip on the netherrack was weak and ineffective, a scrambling half-purchase that just let crumbled stones join him in the molten rock. 

He was going to die.

Dream was incredibly far away. George had fallen from near the nether ceiling all the way to the lava lake below, and Dream had not. His friend was descending as fast as he could, calling out George’s name over and over, but it was too late. George was going to  _ die _ .

As a last thought, he pulled off his pack, full of all the useful items they had spent the day gathering, and threw it over onto the rocky edge. His armor was melting into his body, so that was going with him, but at least his good tools, the extra food, and the gold would be safe until Dream could get to it. It wouldn’t burn.

With that done, George stopped fighting, and let himself sink beneath it, catching a few more desperate cries of name in a cracked, frantic voice, before the heat filled his ears.

Drowning in melted fire is probably one of the worst ways to go, but George’s legs were too broken and burned to keep him treading lava. It was a hot crushing grip on his lungs, liquid inferno down his throat, choking him. His entire body was charring, slowly. He regretted his diamond armor in that moment.

Finally, he felt it end. A final heavy thump of his heart, then, nothing. He went still and waited.

Then, the agony began again. Every nerve ending was on fire as the universe gathered his molecules back together, ripping and tearing him apart so it could put him back together. There was no body to feel, no fist to clench, no mouth to scream. Just pain and no way to express it, alone in darkness. He couldn’t even breathe.

It felt like it took hours to create his new body, though he knew he would appear by his bed after a mere second of time in the real world, and all of it was hell. This was why he hated dying. You had to feel it twice before you could live. You had to unburn, unbleed, undie, the sensation of grotesque and impossible reversal, like the universe hated you for it.

His eyes opened with a gasp of blessedly cool air. He was in the overworld, a fresh breeze dancing through his cracked window. There was no relief like the relief of being alive and done with rebirth. His body still flinched, sure that there was pain waiting, but his brain knew better. He was free.

Dream would come for him tonight.

They hadn’t really spent a night away from each other since the splinter incident, but  _ dying _ , that would be some premium cuddles. He wouldn’t have  _ chosen _ to burn alive in lava, but, since he already had, he could at least look at the bright side, right?

George didn’t particularly feel like moving after his ordeal, and it would take Dream a while to traverse back through the nether to their little base. It would be best if Dream could find him easily, especially after such a gruesome death, so George curled up on his mattress and waited.

He didn’t bother with the blankets. It felt nice to be a little cold.

Dream returned nearly an hour later, panting and sweating and gasping his way to George’s door, to find George resting comfortably in his bed.

At the noise, George blinked his eyes open, having not actually been sleeping, and smiled at him. “Hey.”

Dream dropped everything he had on the ground, crossing the room in two steps and wrapping his arms around George crushingly tight without a word.

“I’m okay,” George murmured, soothingly, “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not! I couldn’t save you!” Dream sobbed, squeezing tighter.

George squeezed back reassuringly. “I’m alive now.”

“But you  _ died _ …”

There wasn’t anything to say to that, so they just held each other tight, rocking back and forth slightly, until the sun started to set below the horizon.

“We should get something to eat,” George suggested softly.

Dream nodded, unwilling to speak, unwilling to reveal how much he had cried.

That night, George waited in desperate anticipation. It felt a little weird to go to their separate rooms since he was sure they would be sleeping together, but they went along with the weird routine, disappearing from each other until one gained the courage to visit the other.

When Dream came to George’s door, he looked exhausted. His gait was uneven, stumbling, like he was barely keeping himself awake. George would have been willing to invite Dream into his bed without any excuse, without any reason, simply because he needed it after the events of the day, but Dream paused, as if to come up with one.

Finally, after a minute or two, Dream just looked down to George with haunted eyes and murmured, “I just want to hold you…”

George opened his arms immediately, trying to hide how much the truth affected him. “Me too.”

~~~

That became the way of it for a while. Whoever went to the other’s door first (usually Dream) would just confess that they needed to be held, and the other, needing it just as much, would accept with open arms.

That would have been enough for the rest of time, but George didn’t want just enough. He wanted more. He wanted a surplus, a bounty, a never ending flow of mutual comfort to help them get through the hostile land they found themselves in.

So one night, after spending the entire day gathering his wits about him, he made sure he was the first out of his room, the first knocking on a door, requesting permission to get in.

Dream invited him without a moment’s hesitation, as he always had, but George was anxious, shifting nervously just inside the doorway.

“What’s up?” Dream asked.

George couldn’t help but smile. It was a reversal of how things normally went, with George now the one fidgeting with apprehension in the foyer as Dream patiently waited for an answer. “Um… I wanted to…”

“You wanted to hold me?” Dream provided helpfully, something he had done for George before, though not recently.

“No. Well, yes,  _ obviously _ , but…” George fiddled with his shirt, feeling a renewed wash of deja vu. Is this what it felt like for Dream too?

“George, it’s okay. You can tell me.” Dream’s voice was as soft as clouds and kittens, gentle and welcoming.

“I’m  _ trying _ … It’s just… Hold on.”

George could hear Dream stifling a giggle. “Take your time.”

“I can leave if you want,” George hissed.

All traces of mocking immediately erased themselves from Dream’s voice. “Please, don’t…”

“I won’t… Thank you.” George took a deep breath, a cleansing wash of air. It was okay. He could do this. Dream had already done it a few times, and George was ready. He was  _ ready _ . “Dream…”

“Yes, George?”

“I’m here to spend the night, because…” The words caught in his throat, and he swallowed. “Because…” One more swallow. He could do this. “Because I love you.”

Dream’s reply was instantaneous. “I love you too.” A smile was painted all over the timbre of his voice, but there was no mockery to it.

George crossed the room. “I know.” It wasn’t rude, it was just… acknowledgement.

“I knew you loved me too,” Dream added, lifting the blankets.

George slipped under the cloth, settling into that special place against Dream’s chest. “I know.”

For a moment, they just held one another, breathing each other in, reveling in admission. It was beautiful and a little raw to be holding each other with all the cards on the table, even if they already understood what they were to each other. There was something in  _ saying _ it that made it magical and satiating.

It also left George feeling bold. “Hey Dream?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I got another splinter today.” George pulled himself away from Dream’s body a little, adding a slight pout to push the bit.

Dream smiled giddily, already guessing at the game. “Oh no! Where did you get it?”

George grinned, pointing to the soft skin of his cheek. “Well, I got one here…”

“Do… Do you want me to… uh… kiss it better?” Dream stammered, suddenly uncertain of himself.

“Yes.”

Dream cupped George’s chin, delicately, like it was made of glass, and pulled it close to him, before laying the most tender kiss in the hollow between George’s cheek and jaw. “Better?”

“Much…” George breathed, feeling a little heady and even more brave. “But I also have one here…” he added, pointing to his forehead.

Dream obliged immediately, this time cupping both of George’s cheeks and brushing his lips where George had indicated, a little more forcefully that time. “Is this helping?”

“Absolutely…” George could feel the heat coursing through his cheeks, and he was sure Dream could see it too. “But there are… more places…”

Dream grinned a little devilishly. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah…” George cleared his throat. “Um… I might have gotten one… here…” His finger was slow to point, shaking slightly. Was this allowed?

The second George’s finger touched his lips, they were making out, completely wrapped around each other on the bed. It was absolute heaven, and George had never been happier in his life. He started pressing his fingers into other parts, his neck, his collarbones, his stomach, and Dream followed the trail obediently, with a smile, while George giggled away.

Eventually, George didn’t have to point anymore.


End file.
